


Everythin' In Its Proper Place

by AnnaFay



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-30 05:09:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5151443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaFay/pseuds/AnnaFay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It didn't seem to keep anyone from trying to escape, but the Ministry still believed in letting them see the consequences of any attempt, so once again they were all herded into the main auditorium, surrounded by a couple of guards and a flock of Dementors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everythin' In Its Proper Place

Tamora really hated when greed and pride got the best of Scabior, but in their current situation she would have been happy to go back to the forest and follow him through mud and pouring rain to catch some poor bastard who probably had about five Knuts on his head. It didn't seem to keep anyone from trying to escape, but the Ministry still believed in letting them see the consequences of any attempt, so once again they were all herded into the main auditorium, surrounded by a couple of guards and a flock of Dementors.

"They say he should be amongst them," reported Tamora as she walked back to the boys and took the seat Scabior saved for her. A few rows behind them there was a wizard she knew from school, and the moment they stepped into the room, they noticed that one of his group was missing. "He disappeared three days ago, but he didn't get far. They saw him when they were brought in for questioning."

"And the other three?" asked Scabior.

"They guessed one of them to be Vestris Jones, but I told them he was dead." Tamora shook her head, looking around. They knew most people who frequented The Leaky Cauldron, at least by face, but it was hard to tell who else were the high-backed chairs at the middle of the floor waiting for.

"We'll learn it soon enough." Scabior cleared his throat, as the door leading to the next room opened and Yaxley walked in, closely followed by Flint, their Patronuses, another two guards and four more Dementors.

As Yaxley took his seat in the first row, Tamora fidgeted a little in hers, drawing her jacket tighter around herself so that it would overlap on her chest, then crossed her arms like such measures could give her protection against what was coming.

"Silence!" ordered one of the guards as Flint stepped beside the chairs and unrolled the parchment containing the names of those who would soon occupy them. It took them a few moments to settle down, but even after that there was much coughing and clearing of throats. The last time they had to witness something like this, they got terribly drunk afterwards, and Scabior told her in detail how Dementors made him feel like he had rocks forced down his throat, and he obviously wasn't the only one with that experience.

Lowering her head so that her scarf would cover her mouth, Tamora wondered if it was any better than the pressure and cold she had in her chest, threatening to stop her heart and crush her lungs.

"Archibald Darrow, Jacob Milliner, Claudius Spivet and Montgomery Warrick have all attempted to break their parole," Flint read the names out loud, and signalled the guards by the door to bring the prisoners in. "For this crime they have all been sentenced to endure the Dementor's Kiss." He briefly turned his head towards the first wizard who was lead into the room by two guards, before looking up at the rest of the Snatchers. He said nothing they didn't expect him to, but his words were met by complete, shocked silence.

Milliner, the man they knew would be there was second in line, but Tamora also recognised Spivet because they've been on the same team two times before Scabior had his own and offered her a place. He was the kind of man she didn't like turning her back on, but he already looked like he would be no threat to anybody ever again. His guards had to Levitate his body to his chair, and an extra piece of rope had to be added to the back of it so that it could keep his head in place for the Kiss.

"Helping them was a fifth man, Elias Rodanov," Flint announced when all four men were seated and chained into their chairs. "For this, he has been sentenced to spend the rest of his life in Azkaban."

The name didn't say anything to Tamora, so she craned her neck to have a look at the man the guards brought in like everyone else, but when she finally saw his face, she was lucky her throat clenched shut with horror, because otherwise she would have surely cried out. She watched Rodanov being led to the center of the room, but when he was made to kneel in front of the other four, so that he wouldn't miss a single moment of the Kiss, she couldn't take it any longer. She lowered her head, closed her eyes and tried to breathe through her nose.

Terrible as it all was, it didn't last long.

There was very little screaming and pleading from the prisoners this time. They were probably beyond that before they were even put in their chairs. The onlookers seemed to be shocked into silence too. There were a few muffled cries here and there, gasps for air and noises of disgust, but her own heartbeat was enough to almost completely drown it out for Tamora.

And it didn't last long; she felt Scabior's hand on her knee before she could have started shivering properly.

"It's over," he whispered. He sounded truly shaken, but he cleared his throat, swallowed hard and repeated it. "It's over," he said, squeezing her knee lightly, and he sounded a little better.

Tamora tried to get a grip too, but when she finally opened her eyes, she couldn't look at him.

The guards were about to release what was left of the four man from their chairs, but two of them were already trying to get Rodanov on his feet. At first she thought he was fighting them. She hoped that he would be able to grab a wand and make them kill him on the spot for it. But when his head lolled to the side, she had to realise that whatever fight he had in him was long gone, and it filled her eyes with tears.

Scabior followed her gaze, and watched with her as the guards put Rodanov in a seat at the first row where he was given some kind of potion, then he looked back at her. He studied her silently for a moment longer, then let go of her knee and put an arm around her shoulder. He tried to pull her closer too, but the armrest between them was digging into her side just below the ribs.

"Let's get the hell out of here," she sniffed, putting a hand on his thigh. But before they could have even started getting up, Flint marched back to the middle of the room to stand beside the chairs. As the last of the four wretches left the room and the door was closed behind them, some of the guards positioned themselves before it with wands at the ready.

"Stay seated," Flint called out, raising his arms.

There was something quite sobering about the way his order had to be repeated several times by guards all across the room, and as Scabior slid his arm off her shoulder, Tamora moved to the edge of her seat and looked up at him. She knew they had nowhere to run here, but it felt good to be prepared, so when he offered her his hand she took it firmly.

"Due to your repeated offences against the terms of your parole, new security measures are to be intorduced," Flint announced. "First of which will be the examination of the Trace put on you upon your leave of Azkaban."

At Flint's signal a bunch of people who they all thought to be only the usual group of scribes and spectators left their seats in the first row and walked up to him, and a couple of guards ordered everyone sitting in the second to stand and form a single line.

"Shit," whispered Tamora, but Scabior probably didn't even hear it. He was busy watching the first four of them being lead to the chairs for their examination and the guards watching the rest of them, and she was too out of breath to say it any louder.

The procedure seemed simple enough. Whoever took a seat had to bare the back of their necks for a long, sweeping motion of their examiners' wand and the moderately painful spell it conjured and that was about it. As the second, then the third group of four came and went, Tamora squeezed Scabior's hand tighter and tried to count how many people were in front of her and how long would it take to check all of them. It looked like she had about half an hour before it was her turn.

This time she didn't say anything. She just closed her eyes and swallowed hard.

The Dementors remaining in the room left little to the imagination about what would happen if they found out that her Trace had been tampered with, and she just knew they would find out. In about half an hour.

Scratching her neck would have been too much of a sign of guilt, so when she opened her eyes again, she buried her free hand deep into her pocket to find it disappointingly empty. Both her wand and knife had been taken away from her before they entered the room, and they couldn't have helped her much anyway. There were too many guards around. Or maybe she could have tried to–

"'Ey," whispered Scabior, leaning closer to Tamora as the row in front of them was ordered to stand and form a line down the stairs.

"What?" she whispered back.

"Punch me in the face before you do it, will you?" He caressed the back of her hand with his thumb. "You're eyein' 'em like you're about to do somethin' stupid," he went on with a grin, nodding towards the guards as he saw her confusion. "And I wanna be able to say that I tried to stop you."

"Oh," chuckled Tamora. "So... erm... in the nose?" she asked and tried to smile back at him. She would have hated to admit that he could see through her by denying it.

"Maybe not in the nose." He touched it with a sniff, as if just speaking about such things could be enough to make it bleed.

"Don't worry," she said and she pushed herself a little further back in her seat to let him see that she had no intention to run. "I won't ruin your good looks," she added in a low voice, just to keep things light-hearted.

He watched her a moment longer, but then he turned back towards the others filing for the chairs, and Tamora followed his example, hoping for a miracle for when she got there.

She payed a lot to get rid of her Trace, and some more to cover up the marks when it became clear that the spell proved too complex to break. Maybe that was her luck. Maybe that's why those poor bastards got caught and she didn't; she still had a perfectly working Trace on her. She tried to concentrate on that, but when it was their turn to stand up and form a line, she could feel her knees go weak and her fingers grow ice cold.

They grew even colder when they reached the bottom of the stairs, and the guard standing there ordered them to remove anything from around their necks. She only had to tug at her scarf to take it off, but the clasp of her necklace didn't give away without a fight.

"Next," announced the guard, signing for Scabior to take the chair from which another Snatcher just stood up.

Until that very moment Tamora had been too preoccupied with her own worries, but as Scabior pulled off his scarf with a flourish and marched to the emtpy chair, she realised he could be in trouble too. She never told him about how she tried and failed, and it could have been just as easy for him to keep his attempt in secret.

"Next."

She watched him looking around and taking a seat, and there was something strange about the glance he gave her before he swept his hair to the side and lowered his head so that the Ministry wizard standing beside him could reach the back of his neck. She hoped with all her heart that she was just being paranoid.

"Next," the guard repeated, and moved to get a hold on Tamora's arm too.

"Right," she stammered, flinching away before he could have touched her. She didn't get to sit next to Scabior, but she watched him all the way to her chair. He had one of his heels slightly lifted from the ground and both his hands clenched into fists.

She lowered herself into her own chair with a shaky sigh.

"Name?" asked the clerk walking up and down behind them, ticking their names off his list.

"Malory, Tamora."

She wanted to keep her head up high for as long as it was possible, and it was only natural that she looked around to see who was there watching them. She knew many of the faces in the front row to be Flint's people, a few of them were scribes, and of course Yaxley was there too. But noticing Rodanov to be still there, sitting tied to one of the seats and flanked by two guards felt like a blow to the stomach.

He was sickly pale, with blotches of angry red around his neck and an ugly bruise on his left cheek. He wasn't crying any more, but he looked like he just stopped for a moment to catch his breath before he started again. Just as their eyes met, the clerk told the wizard beside Tamora to proceed, and she dipped her head forward and fixed her gaze on her own boots, swallowing back fresh tears.

The spell they used to check if her Trace was still there and intact wasn't as painful as the one that should have ripped it away months before, but Tamora had to bite her tongue not to cry out.

"Stay still," said the wizard, putting his free hand on the back of her shoulder, and this time Tamora didn't flinch away. He had a nice, heavy hand with a professionally reassuring touch.

She almost didn't even notice when his wand and the spell were lifted, and kept her head bent, with one hand clutching the arm of her chair and the other holding on to her scarf.

"So?" asked the clerk's voice from somewhere very far.

"It's good," answered the wizard. "You can go," he added towards Tamora.

She didn't even have time to think about how she shouldn't look too surprised or relieved, because the moment she heard that, she stood and nearly ran towards the door. Her knees were even weaker than before, the floor felt uneven and moving under her feet, and she almost collided with the man who was about to take her place, but they said she was free to go, so she wanted to be gone as soon as possible.

"There you are," exclaimed Scabior as she stepped out to the corridor. "Everythin' alright?" He pulled her to the side.

Nothing felt alright, but Tamora nodded as she smeared away her tears. "With you?" she asked. He wore his brightest, bravest smile, but he looked as shitty as she felt.

"Of course," he answered with a grin. "Everythin' in its proper place, and 'urtin' like 'ell." He reached for his neck, massaging it gingerly. "Come on, let's go. I've sent the boys forward to save us a good table. We've got some serious drinkin' to do."

Tamora couldn't have agreed more, and only spared an uneasy glance towards the door she just came through. But when they stepped out of the fireplace of The Leaky Cauldron, and Scabior started to guide her towards the rest of the team, she held him back.

"You know what..." She dusted some soot off Scabior's shoulder with a half-smile. "I think I'd rather just go upstairs," she said, reaching for his face and caressing it. He had nothing there, she just wanted to touch him.

Dementors were at their strongest when they were feeding, so the place was filling up nicely with people who just came from the Ministry and wanted to drive away the terror they left them with, but Tamora didn't feel like seeking comfort in the crowd.

"'Ow about a few drinks first, then we go upstairs?" he offered, taking her by the waist and pulling her closer.

"Or how about I go upstairs and run ourselves a nice, hot bath, then wait for you in it?" she asked. She could have pretended to be fine for a little longer, she could have gotten drunk with the boys and laughed at all their jokes, but she didn't want to.

"Sounds like a plan!"

It was more than a plan, it was The Perfect Plan. Scabior needed people around him, and Tamora needed some time alone, and both of them were about to get what they wanted before getting some time in the tub later. There was only one minor fault in it, but that could be easily mended too.

As soon as she got the water running, she returned to the room and knelt in front of her trunk to look for what was left of that bottle of gin they bought a few weeks before. She remembered it to be half empty, but it was almost full. It was hard to tell if it was because her memory failed her, or because they finished that bottle and bought a new one, but she soon realised that she didn't even care. She just stood up, shut the trunk closed and sat on its top to take the first sip, then put her back against the wall behind her and closed her eyes with a sigh.

The pain in her neck was still there, and she expected it to linger for a few more days, but now that she was alone, it felt worse. Drinking another mouthful, she stood up and walked to the Wireless. Due to The Leaky Cauldron's location halfway between the Wizarding and the Muggle world, it should have played most channels from both sides, but an extra spell put on it by the owners made sure that it skipped the non-magical ones. Luckily Tamora only looked for some background noise, and when she found some music that she liked, she drank again and started undressing.

Everything she had on went straight to the basket in the corner from where the Elves could take them; even her jacket and her boots. She wanted them all cleaned after the day she had, and it was only the beginning. Soap and water had no use against the Dementors, but they worked wonderfully against the feeling they left Tamora with, so when the tub finally filled up, she sank into it and started scrubbing.

And what followed after, was the best part.

She cleaned the water with a flick of her wand, then sat back in the tub with the back of her head against the tiles. She had no idea how much time she had left before Scabior joined her, but she knew she'd spend every minute of it listening to the Wireless, sipping her gin and enjoying her bath.

Too bad she found it harder than ever to distance herself from what they saw.

While she managed to keep her eyes closed this time, memories of previous occasions kept creeping back to her mind. The unhooded Dementors, the horror on their victims faces and the dead expression in their eyes afterwards, they all came back. And there was Rodanov too. The mere thought of him made her grab the bottle and take a long draught, and since she couldn't keep him out of her head, she was more than a little drunk by the time Scabior came upstairs to join her in the tub.

"Sorry, there's not much left for you," she said, sitting up straight and lifting the gin for him to see when he appeared at the door she left half open so that she could hear the music. "But I'm sure I can make up to it if you drop your clothes and join me in here," she added, and splashed the water a little.

Scabior gave her a tired smile before shrugging off his jacket and throwing it towards the bed behind him, but he left the rest of his clothes on.

"What's wrong?" asked Tamora when he sat on the edge of the tub with a sigh and cleared his throat to speak, but didn't say a word.

"Rodanov's dead," he finally said.

It was Tamora's turn to open her mouth but fail to make any sound. She couldn't even keep her eyes on Scabior for long and had to close them, because the world suddenly started spinning around her, and it wasn't from the gin.

"What?" she breathed. "Are you... sure?"

"Quite sure. There's a bloke downstairs. 'E was there, and now tells the story to anyone 'o listens."

"There?"

"At the Ministry." Scabior nodded, taking her hand when she reached for his. "'E attacked one of the guards, killed 'er and moved over to the next. They brought 'im down, and Yaxley decided that if 'e wanted to die so much, they should let the Dementors finish 'im."

"Dead," whispered Tamora with a deep sigh, but it wasn't enough, and since she couldn't decide if she should cry or laugh, she did both, starting with a highly unfeminine snort.

Scabior in return watched her with a mixture of initial shock and amusement for a few moments before steadying himself on her shoulder, leaning over her and fetching the bottle. "Take your time," he said in a voice that suggested he still couldn't tell if she needed a comforting hug or professional help, "but I'll want to 'ear the story be'ind all this," he mused, drinking a mouthful.

"I can't," she coughed, wiping her tears on the back of her hand.

"Whyever not?" Scabior raised his brows, and it climbed even higher when she put up the hand she gave when they made their Unbreakable Vows with Rodanov. "Dammit," he groaned in disappointment. "Now I want to 'ear it even more."

"I know," she said, feeling almost sorry that she couldn't tell him the truth. While the fact that she once tried to get her Trace removed didn't exactly haunt her every day since, it was a great relief to know that the one man who knew about her secret took it to the grave with him as he promised. "But get in here, and I'll take your mind off it," she added with a smile as she made some space for Scabior in the tub.

* * *

_I think I'm a little obsessed with writing about how much it sucks to be a Snatcher._  
_And I'm even more obsessed with reviews, so please, send me some! :)_

_I also have to thank **DragonMoonX** for her help with this one._


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